Quite late the morning-after, Common Sense
regains the floor and moves a resolution:
Resolved, henceforth this body drinks no more!
The Hand that poured, now shakily relents;
the chastened Wits agree in mute confusion;
a turncoat Tongue and reddened Eyes implore
concurrence. As the motion carries, cheers
and ringing sounds continue in the Ears.

In all the din, none note a braying snore,
nor see, collapsed in perfect dissolution,
the instigator of their late offense,
who'd led the party-of-the-night-before.
He sleeps the session through without intrusion,
aware these worthies often jump the fence.
His slumber is untroubled: as Desire,
he'll speak tonight, though—and he'll be on fire.